


Prenuptials

by Trismegistus (Lebateleur)



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/pseuds/Trismegistus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumors are forever swirling in the Untheileneise Court.  On this night, Maia's nohecharei intervene to dispel a particularly vicious one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prenuptials

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theoldgods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldgods/gifts).



> Thank you so much for the wealth of lovely prompts from which to choose! I hope I hit on some of your favorites and that you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

The moon had already dropped beneath the towers of the Alcethmeret when Cala raised the issue of Csethiro.

“Did Csevet set you to this?” he asked wearily, too tired to be polite. All his tossing and turning this night had brought him no closer to sleep. _And I am even less likely to find it now,_ he thought, _if you wish join in with my secretary like the chorus in a musical farce._ For over the past weeks, Csevet had repeatedly questioned, with the grim determination he applied to all such tasks, Maia’s insistence on retiring to his chambers alone.

“No, Serenity,” Cala responded. “Though we are glad to learn Mer Aisava shares our concern.”

Maia wondered darkly if there was any aspect of an emperor’s life that did not merit concern, and did not reply. Cala was not deterred. “Serenity, we urge you to consummate your relationship with Min Ceredin expeditiously. Indeed, the court is alive with speculation as to why you have not yet done so.”

“But we haven’t even married her yet!” he exploded into to the dark, and then blushed furiously.

He heard the rustle of Cala’s robes from his place near the window, but the maza was invisible in the dark of the chamber. “You are correct to wait until all the formalities are properly concluded,” said Cala. “But as emperor, it is somewhat expected of you that you will not.”

“We would prefer instead not to be expected to appear in court bejeweled and painted like a child’s fancy doll.”

“Serenity.” The amusement in Cala’s voice betrayed his neutral response. 

They lapsed into silence, and Maia was relieved to let the matter drop. He rolled onto his back and let patterns swirl against the backs of his eyelids as his breathing slowed. The urge stole over him suddenly, as it sometimes did when he was near to falling into exhausted sleep. He shifted, and gasped, the slide of the diaphanous silk nightshirt across his skin startling him to wakefulness. 

He caught his breath, then immediately fought to bring it back under control. His ears twitched toward the window, and he was suddenly grateful for Esha’s stubborn insistence on removing the myriad jeweled rings that adorned them before he retired each night. Their chiming would have echoed twice as loudly in the cavernous silence of his bedchamber, and Cala would have heard. Though he knew it to be ridiculous, he felt—had long felt—as though Cala’s eyes could see through the darkness, even through the very sheets themselves.

But he heard no hint of movement from where Cala stood his watch. Maia curled into a ball and clenched his fingernails, points hard with lacquer, into his palms. It would be a matter of mere minutes to soothe himself, and had he still been naught more than Varenechibel’s youngest heir, relegated to obscurity in Edonomee, he would have. 

But he had lived in total isolation on the estate, compared to his life in the Untheileneise Court. And though physically possible, this was not something he was prepared to do before any of the retainers in whose company imperial custom demanded he spend every remaining moment of his life. Giddy with the need for both sleep and release, he imagined his edocharei clucking over the damage completion caused to delicate fabrics, or worse yet, Beshelar, gimlet-eyed and critical of his technique.

He brought a pillow to his face to stifle his laughter in clouds of soft down.

Cala spoke suddenly into the dark. “Serenity, it is not healthy.”

The laughter drained from Maia as quickly as it had overcome him. “We fail to understand your meaning.” It was not a question, but a command to silence.

“If we may speak plainly,” said Cala hopelessly, and then did not wait for Maia’s permission. “The rumormongers say you have yet to summon Min Ceredin to your side because your tastes are far more exotic. But we know this not to be true.” 

“Cala—“ The word came out strangled.

“We know it not to be true because we are your nohecharei and we observe you day and night. You think of her in your sleep, and others, and if you are too decent to summon them to your side, at least take ease of yourself.”

“How dare you?” he whispered, and it was not with the rage of an absolute monarch, but the shock of a man whose friend has raised an issue long understood by both parties as verboten. “You would—“ He could hear his voice rising frantically. “You would ask me to do this thing in front of you, when you yourself would hardly—“

Cala’s voice had risen too. “You are emperor, Serenity! What choice do you have?”

“What of you? Could you stand before me—or—or Beshelar—and do such a thing?”

And then Cala was moving across the room while Maia stopped in humiliated silence, and failed to find any words to undo the damage he’d done. For Cala had said nothing that was not true. And he had not considered that if he was loath to do such things with another in the room, it would be equally mortifying to be forced to remain in a room while they occurred, pretending all the while that you witnessed it not. 

His nohecharei were speaking at the door. He could not distinguish Beshelar’s words, but the disbelief in his voice carried clearly across the chamber to Maia’s ears. At last, Cala turned and came back into the room, Maia’s first nohecharis behind him. Through all the many nights they had stood watch over him, they had never once entered his chamber together. Droplets of cold sweat bloomed across his skin. 

Cala came to a stop beside the bed, and Beshelar all but snapped to attention beside him. Maia noted with panic the rigid set of his jaw, the way he struggled to keep his breath even. “We would do anything your Serenity asked of us,” Beshelar growled. “Anything.”

“But you won’t,” he said hopelessly, because he had already seen their despair when all he had asked was that they stand farther back from the throne when the walls of the Untheileian pressed in too heavily, that they walk through the halls of the Alcethmeret half a gallery behind so he might be alone with his thoughts for just a moment. He knew what they were honor bound do if they agreed and anything were to happen to him. And he could not even argue that it would be improbable, because there had been two attempts on his life already.

To ask that they both stand watch in the antechamber so that he might pass the night alone with his wife, would be to force them to make another choice between their oath to protect him and to obey the command of their emperor.

“You won’t,” he said again, and then admitted, “And it is because you will not that you are my nohecharei.”

“Gods, will you listen to him,” said Beshelar to no one. But both his ears and Cala’s had cocked forward with pride, and he knew they valued his words. And yet, it was clear they both wished to say more.

Cala folded and unfolded his arms in the sleeves of his robe. “What we mean to ask is, Serenity, would it help if you saw us first?”

He raised himself on an elbow, aware he was holding his breath in disbelief. “I could not,” he began, then swallowed and tried again. “I could never ask such a thing of you.”

“Serenity. It is not something a man would ever ask of another.”

Maia’s thoughts flashed back to their earlier exchange, and what was expected of an emperor’s appetites. His nohecharei were presenting him with a choice that would determine much, and there was no time to think it through. “Then,” he said and stopped until he could gather the full force of his imperial position to himself. “Then we command it.”

Beshelar’s lips parted, and Maia realized his rigidity was not due to disgust, but was that of a floodgate straining to hold back the torrent. As one, his two nohecharei turned to each other and Cala took Beshelar’s face in his hands. 

They embraced for a long while while Maia gazed motionless from the bed. Though they kept their eyes shut, he could tell they were as aware of him as he of them. Eventually, Cala moved his hands across the blades of Beshelar’s shoulders, as one might soothe a frightened child. Beshelar exhaled heavily, then wrapped his arms around Cala. They began to kiss, lips moving softly as though questioning one another.

Then Cala’s hands were moving again, across Beshelar’s shoulders, down his arms, trailing up his neck to cup his face. Beshelar snorted, whether in amusement or impatience Maia was not certain. Suddenly he gripped Cala to him fiercely, bending Cala’s neck back with the force of his kiss. They rocked together. Maia watched in fascination as Beshelar’s hands moved down Cala’s back and began to knead his buttocks.

Though they had been conscious of Maia before they were no longer. They gripped each other hungrily, occasionally putting forth a hand or staggering back a pace to maintain their balance. Maia groaned, then clasped a hand to his mouth in consternation.

Beshelar broke free and turned to face Maia, face flushed and smiling triumphantly, Cala’s hands still wound in his hair. “Serenity,” Cala whispered, and his voice was rough. “Will you not join us?”

Maia raised his hands helplessly. “We know not what to do.”

His nohecharei did not react for several heartbeats. Then Cala took Beshelar by the hand and led him to the bed. Maia rose obediently to make way for him, moving awkwardly to shield the sight of his arousal. “Then we will show you.”

Beshelar sat on the bed and then reclined slowly until he lay on his back against the mattress. “Serenity, may we?” Cala asked, but only for the form of it. The answer was already a foregone conclusion.

“Yes,” Maia whispered.

Cala’s irises were all but invisible in the dark of the room, making his eyes seem even more dilated. “First, you must put your partner at their ease.” And then he leaned over and kissed Maia. His lips were soft and just slightly moist from Beshelar’s tongue. Maia tasted a faint hint of spice that still clung to them from the evening’s dinner.

Cala’s dragged his fingers down Maia’s spine. The movement sent electric shocks along the length of his body and through his arousal. He choked. “Shh,” Cala gentled, lips brushing against Maia’s cheek. Suddenly, Maia wanted to see Cala’s eyes without the thick spectacles. He reached up and removed them. “Good,” Cala mumbled.

Maia opened his mouth to say he knew not what and Cala’s tongue slid between his lips. Maia recoiled, stiffened, relaxed, then tasted it experimentally. They kissed for long moments before Cala broke away and turned him by the hips to face Beshelar. The lieutenant rose eagerly to meet him. 

Where Cala’s kiss with Maia had been gentle, Beshelar’s was demanding and urgent. At first he held back, aware his skills were no competition to Cala’s and fearing the lieutenant’s perennial disapproval. 

But Beshelar met his mouth willingly, and was more than happy to take the lead. He wound a hand through the braid at the base of Maia’s neck and drew him closer.

He was aware of Cala moving about behind them. Heat rolled off from the maza’s body in waves. He leant in and nuzzled Maia’s neck. “Serenity,” he whispered, then nipped at the skin of Maia’s collarbone. Maia gasped into Beshelar’s mouth and Beshelar hissed in approval.

Cala pulled away and Beshelar began to writhe impatiently beneath him. He tried to turn, to look, but Beshelar’s fingers tightened their grip warningly in his hair. He could hear Cala breathing heavily, and, he thought, an occasional muttered curse. At last Beshelar pushed him away and Maia saw with shock that he was unclothed from the waist down. Bashful, he turned away to find Cala watching him appraisingly. The bed creaked as Beshelar rose behind him.

Trapped between his two nohecharei, Maia felt like the ant in the wonder tale, pinned between two boot soles. Then Beshelar shouldered him aside and took Cala once more into his arms. His hands gripped Cala’s buttocks, long fingers ghostly against the blue of Cala’s robes. They twisted suddenly, bunching the fabric beneath them, and Beshelar tugged the garment up and over Cala’s head.

Maia’s eyes moved across Cala’s skinny chest, his ribs made prominent by shadow. He could bring himself to look no lower. “And now you,” Cala whispered, and then they were pulling him free of his nightclothes before he could gather his wits to stop them.

Maia was never so glad for the darkness, which left his body merely invisible next to his nohecharei’s creamy milken skin, and not ugly. But they were gazing at him as though he were not ugly at all. Beshelar trailed his fingers down Maia’s flank, the nails trimmed blunt but still carefully lacquered in Drazhadeise blue. He took Maia’s hand in his, fingers moving gently over Maia’s knuckles, then fell on bended knee to the floor.

“Serenity, will you give us your command to begin?”

He swallowed and nodded, and then had to swallow again when he realized they would not start without his explicit command. “Yes,” he said, and struggled to keep any tremor out of even that short syllable.

Beshelar lifted Maia’s hand to his mouth. His tongue flicked along each fingertip. Then he drew Maia’s index finger between his lips and pulled. Maia watched, barely able to breathe, for it was clear what Beshelar intended the gesture to presage. Beside him, Cala smiled. “Come, Serenity, and see who delights you more.” 

Hardly trusting his own daring, Maia cupped a tentative hand around the back of Beshelar’s head. Beshelar raised his eyes to him and smiled. Then he took Maia into his mouth. Maia gasped and staggered back, but Beshelar followed. Eyes shut, he worked up and down along Maia’s length, ears turning to catch every gasp and stifled cry. 

Then he pulled away, but before Maia could cry out in dismay Cala’s mouth was over him next, so different from Beshelar’s but just as hot and moist. He sucked hungrily, while beside him Beshelar bent to mouth at Maia’s balls. Maia staggered and nearly fell to the floor at his touch. 

Slowly, his nohecharei backed him across the floor until his thighs met the edge of the bed and he sat. Then they knelt before him and took turns as he gasped and bucked, thrusting sloppily into one eager mouth and then the other. 

He had Beshelar by the nape of the neck, pressing until his entire length slid between Beshelar’s lips. Cala had pressed his face into the crook of Maia’s hip. His breath blasted hot across Maia’s groin as he whispered, fingers tracing swirls along Maia’s heated skin. Maia gazed transfixed at the sight of his spit-slickened shaft disappearing into Beshelar’s mouth. His thighs were shaking. He could hear nothing save his own moaning and the roar of his blood in his ears.

Suddenly Beshelar pulled back, Maia’s penis bobbing engorged and needy in the air by his cheek. Maia sobbed at the sudden loss of stimulation, but Beshelar paid him no heed. He was staring at Cala in consternation. “Maza! Such magics are—are—improper.”

Cala’s fingers stopped moving, and he raised his head from Maia’s waist. “Wouldst have him finish now? Before he’s learned half of what he must? Before _we’re_ through with him?”

They stared at each other in irritation, or competition—Maia knew not which. Then he giggled at the improbability of it all and a heartbeat later all three of them were laughing. Maia did not stop until his stomach muscles ached. 

Cala smiled and rested his cheek on Maia’s thigh. Dazed, Maia ran his fingers through the strands of hair that had come free of Cala’s queue, lifting them from the maza’s sticky neck. Beshelar muttered something indeterminate, then took Cala’s ear into his mouth and sucked long and slow, eyes never leaving Maia’s face. _He flirts with you,_ Maia thought in wonder. _No, he flirts with you both._

Cala sighed, then both nohecharei stood and tumbled Maia back onto the bed. He kissed first one, then the other, tasting himself on each. At last Cala raised his head and met Beshelar’s gaze, ears cocked forward inquisitively. Beshelar nodded and hiked up his legs. 

“No,” he said, and not just because he wanted their mouths on him again, hot and insistent. The thought of what they meant him to do left him queasy with fright.

“We cannot,” he said for the second time that night. “We know not how, and we— That is, I do not want to hurt you.”

Beshelar snorted and dropped his head against the pillows. Cala spared him an exasperated glance, then turned to Maia. “You need not trouble over that, Serenity. You need only be gentle. Here.” He took Maia’s hand in his and closed it over Beshelar’s member where it lay half soft against his thigh.

They stroked in silence for three, four heartbeats’ time. “Look,” breathed Cala. “See how it purples?”

Beshelar’s ears twitched forward, and Maia was aware of his lieutenant watching him carefully from between slitted eyelids, though his glance darted away from Maia’s whenever he tried to find it. Soon Beshelar rose stiff and throbbing against his palm. 

Cala took Maia’s hands in his once more and began to knead and pull along his fingers. At first, Maia thought he meant only to soothe; then he noted the slickness Cala’s narrow palms left in their wake. 

“Whether man or woman, you must take your time at first,” Cala said. “Pay proper attention at the outset, and everything will fall into place later.” And then he took Maia’s hand and guided it between Beshelar’s thighs.

“See? You need not fear to touch him. Play with him…here.” Cautiously, he let his hand drop from Cala’s and ran his fingers lightly over the skin between Beshelar’s buttocks. The reaction was immediate. Beshelar drew a shaky breath and arched into the mattress, fingers curving round the posts of the headboard. Maia was overwhelmed by the sight of him. _He is not so very much taller, or older, but,_ Maia thought, _he is so much more **solid**_. 

Cala wound both hands around Maia’s torso and pressed his sweaty chest to Maia’s back. His lips were against Maia’s ear, crooning encouragement as Maia continued to explore, jolts of pleasure running through his own arousal with every grunt and whimper he drew forth. Cala leaned forward as if to brace himself against the bed, but instead placed his own finger against Beshelar’s hole. Maia’s eyes widened as he watched it disappear inside. 

Chest tightening, he watched his maza slide his finger in and out. “Yours too, Serenity. See how he wants it?” Beshelar had been fidgeting impatiently upon the mattress while Cala spoke, but at the touch of Maia’s hand he stilled, not even breathing. Cala placed Maia’s dark, nobby fingers alongside his aristocratic ones, showing him how to run his fingertips around the rim, how to press experimentally against the entrance until the muscles were ready to give. Beshelar panted for breath and gasped as they teased him, and then his hips rose from the mattress and suddenly Maia’s questing finger was surrounded on all sides by hot, clenching skin.

He would have shied away as if burnt, but Cala was standing behind him, whispering filthy encouragements into his ear. Maia tentatively cocked a knuckle, to be rewarded with a groan drawn from the depths of Beshelar’s chest. It was not long before he was working his finger faster and faster, while Cala ground his own arousal against the sweaty skin of Maia’s back.

Then Beshelar hissed and writhed away, and Maia pulled his hand free, face aflame and stricken. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said over and over, unaware that Beshelar and Cala both had taken him by the arms and were shaking. “You must not apologize,” Beshelar was barking. He lowered his voice when he saw he had regained Maia’s attention.

“You must not apologize,” he repeated, less loudly this time. “Just still for a moment and begin again, and all will be well. It is no different than gentling a spooked horse.”

“Canst not compare thyself to a _horse_ , Beshelar!” said Maia, and went limp in indignation.

“Goddesses above and beneath,” muttered Cala. “May they save the two of you from yourselves.” He took them, one in each hand, touch delicate and sure. Maia was determined to hold his hips still, but could not. It was not long before Cala had caressed him back to hardness, and Beshelar too. Whent the maza next spoke his words were as nonchalant as ever, but the tautness in his voice belied them. “Now. Serenity, may we show you what comes next?”

He shut his eyes and swallowed until some moisture returned to his parched throat. “Please,” he breathed at last. A tremor ran through Cala’s body and he exhaled carefully, long and slow. Then he let Maia slide to the side of the bed and knelt between Beshelar’s thighs. Cala’s hand was on his own penis, pulling in strong, swift strokes. Suddenly greedy, Maia batted his hand away and stroked Cala himself while Cala, bent nearly double, panted and begged him first to continue, and then to stop.

Together, they worked their hands beneath Beshelar’s waist and shifted him until his hips rested atop Cala’s thighs, long, muscular legs spilling over to either side of the bed. Maia watched as Cala licked his lips, positioned himself, and then pressed all the way into Beshelar.

Beshelar kicked, shuddered, and then lay still. Cala pulled back slowly until just the head of his penis remained within, then thrust. Pulled back slowly, and thrust.

“Like so, Serenity,” he said between panting breaths. “Back and forth. Like so.” The sight of him, thin hips thrusting while Beshelar, both larger and stronger, lay pinioned beneath him as if helpless, should have been comical. But Maia’s mouth was dry, his hand pulling frantically at his own arousal in time with Cala.

He was fascinated by it, all of it—the rhythmic clenching of Cala’s buttocks, the sweat that rolled down his bony spine and between the sharp blades of his shoulders, the sounds of Beshelar’s heavy breathing, their smells. Cala ceased kissing Beshelar and pulled away, spine arching toward the door. His chest rose and fell heavily, his face clenched tight. With a final, heavy breath, he withdrew. Beneath him, Beshelar groaned in disappointment.

Cala took a moment to collect himself and then turned to Maia. Maia was confused—any fool could see that he had not yet fully taken his pleasure—until he noticed Cala’s outstretched hand. He was eager, so eager he felt his cock must surely split in two unless he mounted one of them this very instant, but still he hesitated.

“Serenity, can you still mean to deny yourself?"

Maia’s gaze darted to Beshelar’s face at the maza’s words. “It would please us—me—very much,” Beshelar said. He tried for the same dispassionate tone with which he habitually judged Maia, the court, the very world itself, but even Maia, innocent as he had been until this night, thrilled to the eagerness in his voice.

Guided again by Cala, Maia pressed himself, ugly and swollen, against Beshelar’s entrance and nearly choked on his own breath when he slid easily into the warm tightness of Beshelar’s body. “Oh, _please_ ,” Beshelar breathed, and it was all Maia could do not to spill himself out over the two of them then and there. 

Maia clenched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the insistent tensing of Beshelar’s hands on his hips. He withdrew and thrust again, haltingly, breath stuttering from his mouth as pleasure washed through him. Then he ground against Beshelar in long, slow circles, taking his pleasure with increasing confidence as Beshelar’s hips lifted from the mattress and his head thrashed back and forth against the pillows.

Cala collapsed to the bed beside them and turned Beshelar’s face to meet his kiss. Maia watched as Cala’s dexterous fingers teased Beshelar’s ears, pulled hungrily at his darkened nipples, played along his muscled abdomen. He moaned with lust and Cala rose to tease him next. 

He kissed long trails down Maia’s ears and spine until Maia thought he would go mad with it all. Then Cala took him roughly by the hips. Maia gasped as something long and hard pressed between his legs. A jolt of frisson ran along his spine and he shook his head, helplessly. 

“Don’t worry, Serenity. This is all we mean to take tonight.” The maza’s voice was an unrecognizable rasp. Maia turned to kiss him, sucking Cala’s tongue into his mouth, then bent back to the lieutenant. His hair, come completely free from its plait, bounced about his face in wet, lank curls.

Cala’s cock was hot and so good between his thighs. He matched his own thrusts to its rhythm and locked eyes with Beshelar. The lieutenant’s cries came faster now, plaintive, and Cala’s breath spilled hot across his shoulder and the back of his neck. He ached, for more, more, more, until there was no more room to build and he crumpled atop Beshelar and released himself into the lieutenant in long, shuddering waves. He could feel the stickiness of Cala’s own release warm and viscous between his thighs, and Beshelar’s too, pulsing out to splash pale and ghostly across his chest.

Eventually Beshelar shifted and rolled Maia off from him. Maia groaned and reached for him, murmuring something incoherent, but Beshelar was once again the proper soldier. “I must, Serenity. We have neglected our watch long enough already.” 

Cala too rose and began dressing, though it took him far less time than Beshelar with his many laces, buckles, and straps, and his robe, perpetually wrinkled to begin with, looked much less the worse for wear. Maia saw Beshelar take note of it and frown, then stalk from the room, and laughed softly at them both, giddy and delighted with the pleasure they had all just taken of one another.

Instead of returning to his place by the window, Cala sat on the edge of the bed and cradled Maia’s head in his lap, his fingers carding through Maia’s sweaty tangles so he could braid Maia’s hair into something presentable. Later, Maia would need to think over all that had just happened, about how he might have an emperor’s appetites after all, and about whether his nohecharei would be willing to help him show his empress what they had just shown him. But for now he allowed himself to drift into a dreamless sleep, Cala’s fingers still working deftly through his hair.


End file.
